


Diplomacy as (Con) Artistry

by Truth



Category: Oglaf
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-24
Updated: 2010-12-24
Packaged: 2017-10-14 01:56:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/144080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Truth/pseuds/Truth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Never kid a kidder.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Diplomacy as (Con) Artistry

**Author's Note:**

  * For [marchingjaybird](https://archiveofourown.org/users/marchingjaybird/gifts).



The Mistress was in a good mood. The screams echoing from her personal chambers were rather higher pitched than usual and the ululations were a nice touch. The occasional, broken plea for mercy could be heard echoing along the stone corridors, and that always improved her day.

The best part of all of this good cheer was that it allowed everyone in the fortress to know exactly where she was and thus have a higher than average chance of not ending up as the author of one of those screams. High banquets, the receiving of diplomats, even the delivery of tribute never guaranteed that she would remain in whatever place you saw her last – and she _always_ seemed to know exactly when anyone within the fortress walls would least enjoy being interrupted.

Playtime, on the other hand, was sacrosanct.

Ivan enjoyed these afternoons, rare though they were. They were the only time he had anything like a set schedule.

Put the Mistress’ books away.   
Tidy the Mistress’ secondary work room.   
Avoid today’s childish prank from the Mistress’ guards.  
Take the Mistress’ soiled clothing to the laundry.  
Fetch the Mistress’ list of people to punish from the Chancellor.  
Evade the Mistress’ latest attempt to get him killed – or worse.  
Oil down the succubi.

Today, he’d finished early and was quietly dropping sealed glass bottles down the bottomless pit in furthest dungeon to the fading screams of ‘I’m telllllling!’ and ‘You’re in trouble!’

It was almost therapeutic.

“I know she likes to keep things traditional, but really. This place is so _dank_. I mean, dripping water and moss on the stones? She obviously doesn’t use it, which is why she’s willing to let me have it, but what can I possibly do with it? Raise mushrooms?”

Ivan was so used to panic that it only took him a moment to shove the bag with the rest of the captured sprites straight over the edge and into the bottomless darkness. Hooking his thumbs into his belt, he attempted a nonchalant lean against the wall that marked the edge of the pit – and gave it up with a hopeless hiss of breath as his brain caught up to his panic.

As the face attached to that familiar voice made his way around the last corner of the archaic, spiral stairs, Ivan managed a greeting, “Ambassador.” The word was offered with no ceremony and a distinct lack of enthusiasm.

Sandoval, Ambassador of Xoan, troublemaker extraordinaire, came to a halt with an expression of surprise – one that quickly faded to his more customary expression of anticipatory mischief. “You were lying in wait to see me!”

His companions, heavily hooded and veiled, gave voice to soft, hissing apologies and withdrew. Ivan stared after them helplessly, resisting the urge to beg them to stay. With Sandoval, things always went from bad to worse. The urge faded abruptly as he realized that Sandoval probably wouldn’t be at all deterred by witnesses to whatever might come into his head. In fact, he might welcome an audience.

“I – need to be upstairs. Yes. Upstairs. Doing – things. Important things. Right away.” Ivan stepped away from the pit and tried to stride manfully away. The effect was somewhat hampered by Sandoval’s entirely unsubtle maneuver to convince him to stay.

Ivan regarded the damp stones of the floor from a far closer vantage than he liked, tying to blink away the stars dancing in front of his eyes. For all the poisonings, the tricks, the little magic traps – he hadn’t been prepared for Sandoval to _trip_ him.

“Ow.”

“These dungeons have such uneven floors.” Sandoval dropped to his heels, reaching to retrieve Ivan’s official hat from where it had ended up resting on the edge of a puddle. “I realize that the desire to throw yourself into my arms is nigh overwhelming, but perhaps somewhere more… soft?”

Fury got Ivan to his feet and leaning against the moss coated wall as he made sure all his bones survived the fall unbroken. He turned to glare at Sandoval, only to find the ambassador far closer than expected. Ivan snatched at his headgear, pointing the horns toward Sandoval in an attempt at fending him off. “You’ve humiliated me, half-drowned me, poisoned me and we’re not even going to discuss that business with the – the _thing_.”

“Ah, memories.” Sandoval gave a dreamy smile, reaching out to curve his fingers around one of the horns. “There are so many between us, aren’t there?”

“If by ‘between’ you mean, ‘forced on me by a depraved sex fiend’, then yes.” Ivan yanked at his hat. Sandoval didn’t let go, stepping forward with the movement and Ivan’s attempted recoil pressed his shoulders against the wall, reminding him that he had nowhere to go.

“I knew you liked me.” Pale fingers walked up the curved red horn and then slid to close around Ivan’s wrist. “But enough about me. Let’s talk about you.”

“Like the fact that I’m due back upstairs to oil my Mistress’ whips and other leather equipment the very instant she’s done?” Ivan kept a steady glare despite a certain waver of mild panic in his voice.

The sudden, bright widening of Sandoval’s smile told him exactly how much of an error that admission had been as he leaned against his captive.

Ivan summoned his resolve and an even darker glare. “I don’t want to hear whatever depraved fantasies you’re dreaming up. If I’m not there when she’s through, one of _us_ will be doing the screaming.” He twisted his wrist out of Sandoval’s grip. “As much as she seems to want to play nice with Xoan, she can always get another ambassador sent over, even if it isn’t one she’ll find quite so much fun. On the other hand, it’d take her months to train another apprentice and, even angry, you _know_ she’ll think of that first.”

Sandoval’s bright smile faded with every sentence. By the time Ivan snapped out the last sentence his expression was grave – even thoughtful. It was almost more disturbing than the smile.

Ivan gathered his dignity, his hat and his last reserves of calm. Without another word, and resisting the urge to look back over his shoulder, he left the dungeon with more haste than decorum. If he’d chosen to look back, he might’ve actually put on speed, or possibly run into a wall.

“Why do they always insist on playing hard to get?” Sandoval leaned against the wall surrounding the bottomless pit himself, elbows taking his weight as he drummed his fingers against the stone.

“It’s never bothered you before.” A sudden puff of smoke coiled away to reveal Mistress. Her hair was loose and fell down her back almost to her feet. Her filmy robe not only concealed nothing, the gauzy white fabric stuck to her skin, plastered against it by the occasional stripe of blood. She wore only that and an exceedingly pleased smile as she joined him at the wall, a cat of nine tails dangling from her hand. “Or are you afraid that you’re losing your touch?”

Sandoval shot her a sidelong look. “Me? Which of us has never given their apprentice so much as a single lesson in magic?”

“What makes you think it’s magic I want him to learn?”

They smiled at each other with cheerful malice, tension filling the air between them. “Let’s make this interesting, shall we?”

**

“Catalogue the entire collection, apprentice. Some of those booby traps have been collecting dust for years.”

“A mere token of my esteem. It tastes especially good just before bed.”

“My new baby needs a pedicure. It’s not old enough to be lethal, so I’m only giving you the anti-paralytic.”

“It’s a book that shows you your heart’s desire – my you certainly seem to think about me a lot. What do you mean the ink isn’t dry? That’s part of the magic.”

**

“They’re up to something.” It had become an occasional habit to talk to the sprites as he dropped them down the well. Ivan’s trips to the dungeon had become far less frequent of late. Sandoval’s occasional presence made it fraught with slightly more peril than he really needed.

“I’m telling!” The sprites weren’t the best of conversationalists, but knowing that they’d never be seen again made them excellent confessors, at least from Ivan’s point of view.

“I mean, they’re always up to something, but this time they’re being blatant about it.” He dropped the next one over the side, making a mental note to steal more bottles and corks. “I’ve got a really bad feeling about this.”

“You’re in trouble!”

Ivan stared at the little sprite wearily, raising the bottle to eye level. “Tell me something I didn’t know.”

A moment later, the bottle went spinning down into the darkness.

“Trouble. Why should today be different?”

The long walk back to his quarters gave him far too much time to worry. Distracted by this new suspicion, he barely had time to ditch the sack when two of Mistress’ guards rounded a corner.

“There he is!”

Under other circumstances, he might’ve stopped to admire the view. Mistress didn’t exactly encourage uniforms that covered very much – except in his case. Having been exposed to what passed for a sense of humor amongst the guards, however, made them a great deal less attractive. It took an effort of will not to turn and run. Ivan settled for a glare. “Here I am. How terribly exciting. ”

They exchanged a look. “Mistress has, um….”

“Has, um, what?” Ivan looked from one to the other. “Or is this another one of your _hilarious_ practical jokes?”

“She’s got some… gifts for you.” The guard to the right shrugged. “She wants you to have the, uh, more _interesting_ remnants of the tribute.”

“You mean she wants to offload the crap and thought it’d be easiest to get me to carry it to the dung heap.” Ivan crossed his arms with a scowl.

“Sounds about right.”

“I hate you all.”

That earned him a grin from the guard on the left. “That sounds about right too. Let’s go, Apprentice. She expects you to be properly appreciative, so you might want to get on with it.”

**

Three hours later, Ivan was wishing he were back in that stupid, stupid blanket fort with Sandoval – because then he’d be dead. Dead, as far as he could make out, was infinitely preferable to where he was now.

The only part of the whole business he actually felt bad about was the death of the guard, but that twinge of very real regret was somewhat overshadowed by his impending doom.

‘If you’d been smart enough not to fool around with –‘

“Shut up!” Ivan found himself missing the limited conversational abilities of the cum sprites. In comparison, they were a wonderful set of companions, stuck on one theme or no.

He’d tried putting a pillow over his head, he’d tried a few prayers and warding off symbols, he’d tried humming really, _really_ loudly….

Nothing Mistress could do to him for the accidental death of her pet could be as bad as being haunted by the Lizard of Guilt. _Nothing_. Of course, he’d probably be stuck with the damn thing while she tortured him, crooning ‘I told you so’ and ‘this is all your fault’ and ‘if you’d just given in and gotten yourself killed earlier’….

Ivan sat bolt upright, pillow still held over his ears. “That – that’s it. Why didn’t I think of it before?”

‘Because you never think about anyone but yourself.’

“Like that’s something to feel guilty about around here?” Ivan glared at him. “You’re not even a very _good_ Lizard of Guilt, are you?”

‘You’re going straight to hell. Murderer.’

“Whatever.” Ivan hunted frantically through his possessions, eventually coming up with a pair of somewhat worn leather gloves. Yet another useless hand-me-down from Mistress after she’d gotten rid of that creepy hawk. He was suddenly, incredibly grateful for them.

With a brief stop in the library and a careful securing of a ‘borrowed’ item at the small of his back beneath his cape, Ivan decided that he was ready. Stepping into the hallway, he tried to decide on the best plan of action. He’d have to act fast, and he’d wasted far too much time on scrubbing his hands. Maybe he should start –

“Apprentice!”

Ivan jumped, whirling to face the scantily clad and scowling figure of his Mistress. “Yes! I mean, yes Mistress!”

She raised an eyebrow, scowling. “Just where are you going – and with my old gloves?”

Trying desperately to ignore the purple lizard floating just over her shoulder, Ivan summoned up a weak smile. “The, uh, Lizard of Guilt. I was thinking of training it to, um, fetch? But it seems to have, uh, run … away?”

“Practically an epidemic.” The sarcastic note in her voice made Ivan wince. She had a new wand and the way she was tapping it against one of her high boots was making him sweat. “Perhaps you’d better find it, Apprentice. Don’t let me keep you.”

“YesMistressrightawayMistress.” Ivan fled.

‘You killed her precious pet.’

“Shutupshutup!”

Ivan ran down the steps, not daring to look back. “This has to work, it has to work, it has to wor-“

It was typical of his luck that he collided, full-bore, with the Xoan Ambassador on the last curve of the stairwell. They fell the last few steps, Ivan landing atop Sandoval with a bruising ‘thud’.

“…what did I say… about _softer_ surfaces?” Sandoval asked, struggling for breath. He glared up at Ivan. “Pain has its place – but I’d prefer… something a bit more… sophisticated.”

Ivan shoved himself up onto his elbows and stared down at Sandoval. “You’re only chasing me because it’ll piss Mistress off. You know that she enjoys making my life a living hell on her _own_ terms.”

“How surprisingly perceptive,” Sandoval said. His glare faded into his normal expression of faintly amused boredom. “Now will you get off me?”

“No.” Ivan shifted his weight, holding Sandoval down. “If I helped you put one over on her, with the understanding that I would _survive_ her reaction… what would you do for me?”

“I – what?”

“I’ll help you piss her off if you do something for me. Aren’t you supposed to be a negotiator of some kind?” It was Ivan’s turned to scowl. “That is, provided you can keep her from killing _me_. Do we have a deal?”

Sandoval’s eyes narrowed warily. “Let’s discuss this somewhere more… comfortable.”

**

The private quarters of the Xoan Ambassador were an opulent testament to gross self-indulgence. Ivan looked around, unimpressed. Surrounded by Mistresses’ ideas of high fashion and torture implements as objets d’art, he was becoming somewhat jaded.

“Wine?”

“No,” Ivan said. He gave Sandoval a dark look. “Nor do I want anything to eat, inhale, handle or even look at closely. You’re more comfortable – now talk.”

With a shrug, Sandoval draped himself over a chaise and helped himself to a bunch of grapes. “You want to make a deal. With me.”

“Yes,” Ivan said. He folded his arms self-consciously. “I do you a favor and you do one for me.”

“Mmm hmm.” Sandoval carefully examined one of the grapes before popping it in his mouth. “And what could you possibly have that I might want?”

“You want to score points of Mistress – and the two of you are playing some stupid game with my life. I’m willing to help you cheat. _If_ you can get me what I want.”

Sandoval was smiling again.

“And because you are totally untrustworthy, you’ll be giving me _my_ half of the bargain first.”

The smile disappeared again. “I think you’re overestimating the value of what you have to offer.”

“Am I?” Ivan raised an eyebrow. “When was the last time someone managed to put one over on Mistress – and survive? You’d have bragging rights for the rest of your life which, if I’m right about whatever little competition you two have going on, will be a lot longer than that of anyone else who’s tried it.”

There was a very, very long pause this time as Sandoval lounged, grapes suspended above him with one hand. “You’re smarter than you look.”

“Yes or no? You give me something, I give you something and we both walk away alive.”

“All right.” Sandoval shrugged, snapping a grape from the bunch with his teeth. “What do you want?”

“Not so fast. You are the least trustworthy person that I know.” Ivan reached behind him, producing the book he’d taken from the library. “You’re going to put your hand on this and swear that you’re not going to betray me – and that I’m going to live through Mistress’ wrath when she loses.”

Sandoval sat bolt upright, the unaccustomed look of surprise sitting oddly on his face. “Where did you get _that_?”

“One hand on the book, Ambassador. Let’s go.”

“ – much smarter.” Sandoval stretched out to let his fingers rest on the edge of the volume, imaginatively titled ‘The Happy Fun Book of Retribution’. “I swear that I’m not going to betray you –“

“Use my name, Ambassador. I know how this thing works.”

“- not going to betray Ivan, Mistress’s Apprentice, if he –“

“Definite ‘betray’ and to who.”

“- not going to let Ivan, Mistress’s Apprentice, suffer at the hands of Mistress for any aid he gives me in winning my current wager with her.” Sandoval looked up, mildly annoyance clearly visible. “Satisfied?”

“Let’s add ‘or anything else related to my agreement wish Ivan, Mistress’s Apprentice’.”

Sandoval repeated it. “So what horror, exactly, has driven you to my lair, however well-armed?”

Ivan set the book on a nearby table and pulled off the heavy leather gloves, displaying his hands to Sandoval.

“What is –“ Sandoval cut himself off. “You need me to get that off your skin.”

“That’s half of it. I figured your little entourage of mad alchemists would be able to take care of any stains.” Ivan allowed Sandoval to take his blue-stained hand and examine it. “The other half is a bit more difficult.”

“How _much_ more difficult?” Sandoval was stroking the Ivan’s skin with his fingers and examining his own fingertips thoughtfully.

“We need to replace Mistress’s new pet. Tonight, if possible.”

Sandoval dropped Ivan’s hand and turned away. “Not interested.”

A low, ugly growl came from the table, and they turned to look at ‘the Happy Fun Book of Retribution’. The corner of its cover was curling back and sharp, jagged teeth were visible.

“On the other hand,” Sandoval continued, taking a careful step away from the table, “I’m sure I can come up with something.”

“So am I.”

Sandoval gave a sigh of irritation. “Run along, Apprentice. This will take me some little time.”

“What about this?” Ivan held up his hands.

“Oh, that.” Sandoval waved a hand in dismissal. “Go down to the dungeon. I’ll send someone to meet you.”

Ivan pulled his gloves back on and cautiously retrieved the book, which was slowly, grumblingly, settling down again. “The dungeon.”

“Out.”

**

The meeting in the dungeon, despite giving Ivan unfortunate flashbacks to a certain poisoning episode, was fairly tame. The extremely creepy creature greeted him with a number of sibilants that weren’t normally to be found in the word ‘Apprentice’ as well as the one that was. Five minutes with a weird, sticky poultice on his hand (deliberately not thinking about what it might be) and the blue was gone. Of course, so were several layers of skin, but he felt he could live with that.

Gloves tucked into his belt, the ghost of the Lizard of Guilt still hanging about and telling him he was a terrible, terrible person at thirty second intervals, Ivan headed back out of the dungeons with an almost optimistic skip to his steps.

“ _Apprentice!_ ”

Five minutes of optimism. A new record. “Mistress! I mean, yes, Mistress?”

She glared at him. “ _Why_ were you in the dungeons just now, Apprentice? And this had better be good.”

“Looking for my… lizard, Mistress.”

‘Liar.’

Ivan ignored the ghost and also the cold sweat running down the back of his neck. “It seems to have vanished entirely. Do you suppose it was eaten in last night’s chaos?”

“Hmmm.” She tapped her fingers against one bare thigh, considering.

Under other circumstances, Ivan might have tried some furtive ogling, considering that the entirety of her outfit could’ve been folded up and made to fit into one of his shoes. However, much like the guards, long exposure to the malice and crazy contained in all that naked skin eventually put a lid on even the most active libido.

He pinned a desperate smile on his face and tried not to look as if he were up to something.

“One of your other toys seems to have escaped,” Mistress said. “It’s currently embedded in the posterior of the chamberlain. It has apparently killed four guards, two slaves, three assassins and a passing pig. Pork for dinner, apparently. I’m leaving it stuck in the chamberlain until someone figures out how to dispose of it properly.”

She paused to rub her forehead, scowling. “From now on, I’m going to have someone pre-check the tribute, and if it isn’t up to standards, we’ll just execute them outside the fortress. Perhaps that will slow them down.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“I want everything left in that room destroyed,” she said. “I don’t know what I was thinking, but I _will_ find out. There’s a formal dinner tonight and I’ll need someone to taste my food. Be there.”

She strode away, leaving Ivan to sag against the nearest wall with a sigh of relief.

**

Dinner went with suspicious smoothness. Only one of the dishes had any poison at all, and long practice kept Ivan from more than a round of mild hallucinations. He actually enjoyed them, for once, as it drowned out the persistent hounding of the Lizard of Guilt’s ghost.

Sandoval did not try once to feel Ivan up under the table or even a minor game of footsie. With “The Happy Fun Book of Retribution” safely hidden back in the depths of the library, buried behind a number of boring tomes of ancient history, Ivan decided he didn’t have anything to worry about and concentrated on enjoying his meal.

Halfway through dessert, a guard entered the dining hall and moved to whisper into Mistress’s ear. A few minutes later, the chamberlain, still with an arrow rather obviously protruding from his rear, entered. With a rather mincing step, he advanced to the table, putting a box down before Mistress.

She rose, opened the top of the box and stared down into it. A moment later, everyone in the hall was treated to the sight of Mistress, three times voted most terrifying woman in the world, squealing like a three-year-old on a sugar high. She snatched a small, revolting, hairless creature from the box and cuddled it.

“Ooos my widdle destroyer of armies? _Ooos_ my widdle bringer of Armageddon. _You_ are! Yes you are!”

Ivan sank down in his chair with a sigh of relief that would’ve been highly suspicious, if anyone had been looking his way. However, with the display of his mostly naked Mistress making revoltingly gooey noises at her pet monster, it went entirely unobserved.

The banquet broke up fairly quickly after that, most of the diners having lost what was left of their appetite when faced with the display at the head table. Mistress was feeding her pet the fingers of the assistant chef who’d let the poisoned dish slip through and, really, dessert was mostly over anyway.

Things were looking up, and Ivan left the dining hall with an actual smile on his face – one which vanished the moment a hand came down on his shoulder. A very familiar voice said, “Now, let’s talk about what _you_ are going to do for _me_.”

“Now?” Ivan’s voice had acquired an embarrassing squeak from somewhere and he fought it down. “I mean, it’s awfully late, and I was just poisoned and-“

“Now.”

Maybe throwing himself on Mistress’s non-existent mercy had been the wiser move after all. Swallowing hard, Ivan allowed Sandoval to steer him back toward the Ambassador’s quarters.

Nothing had changed since Ivan’s last visit, but he was still careful not to touch anything. Wrapping his arms around himself, he asked, “What?”

“What?”

“What.”

Sandoval smiled at him sweetly. “You’re going to be staying the night. Tomorrow morning, you will miss your breakfast check-in and you will stay here until she manages to figure out where you’ve gotten to.”

“- she’ll murder me.”

“She didn’t murder you over the masquerade party,” Sandoval said, reasonably.

“That’s because I was dying _anyway_. You _poisoned_ me!”

“Details.”

Ivan scowled at him. “Pertinent details. Plus I have this embarrassing condition where -”

“It only happens when you’re wanking without permission. I checked.”

“You _would_!” Get your hand out of there!”

“I promised I wouldn’t let her do anything horrible to you – on pain of being gnawed to death by a volume with an unfortunate title, remember?” Sandoval said. “You’re perfectly safe. Now. Clothes off.”

The sound Ivan made was most closely described as a squawk.

“We had an agreement,” Sandoval said patiently, flicking Ivan’s hat from his head. “You got what you wanted, and now you give me what I want.”

“I never promis-“

“If you finish that sentence, you won’t have to worry about Mistress’s reaction.” Sandoval’s fingers were working at Ivan’s shirt. “I’ll kill you myself and then tell her what you did. The book won’t react to that, as she can’t do anything to you if you’re already dead – and she just might reward me, if I make it excruciating enough. Clothes. Off.”

“- shit.”

The pile of abandoned clothes marked the death of Ivan’s dignity, or at least the beginning of the end. Sandoval was apparently determined to make Ivan pay for the difficulties he’d been put through, and nudity was only a small part of that payment.

Amongst the items within Sandoval’s suite of rooms that Ivan would never, ever be able to look at again:

The chaise in the antechamber.  
The floor of the dressing room.  
The chair in the dressing room.  
The wall opposite the mirror in the dressing room.  
Any part of Sandoval’s bedroom.

Things got a little blurry at one point, despite Ivan being _certain_ that he hadn’t been foolish enough to eat or drink anything. He was fairly certain some sort of drugs were involved, as he would never, ever, ever have agreed to that thing with the rope and wardrobe if he’d been in control of himself.

The world was still somewhat blurry when Ivan finally blinked himself awake.

“- cheated somehow.”

“Fair and aboveboard. He walked in here of his own free will.” Sandoval managed to sound both bored and smug at the same time. It must have something to do with being an ambassador, Ivan decided fuzzily.

“And stayed willingly as well? I smell something in the air, Sandoval.”

“I lit those candles somewhere between a rather amusingly fumbling blow job and getting him on his hands and knees in front of a mirror.”

Memory provided a very vivid mental image of that particular escapade, and Ivan curled into a ball, hoping that it would go away soon.

“Where is he?”

“Under the bed, I think? He tried to wander off sometime just before dawn and got lost in the closet.”

The voices came closer and belated realization caused Ivan to sit bolt upright – or attempt to. He was seeing stars when a hand closed around one ankle and dragged him bodily from beneath the bed.

“There you are, Apprentice.” Mistress did not look at _all_ pleased, her pet monster tucked into the crook of her arm and the riding crop in her other hand leveled at Ivan.

“M-mistress?” Ivan found to his horror that he was entirely naked, and pulled his ankles away from the tittering guards. He snatched a blanket from the bed and wrapped himself in it.

“You are a grave disappointment,” she told him flatly. “I hope you have a very good reason for this.”

Ivan looked desperately around for a diversion, but found himself the interested focus of two guards, Mistress, her pet monster, and Sandoval – who had somehow found time to dress completely and find a glass of something sparkling for refreshment.

“Um… raw, animal magnetism?” he offered weakly.

Sandoval looked entirely too smug.

“Very well.” Mistress looked, if anything, even more displeased. “You win, Ambassador. He’s yours for a week.”

“I - _what_!?” Ivan looked from one to the other, paling dramatically. “You – I – he…?”

“I’ll expect you to make up for this… _lack_ at the end of the week, Apprentice.” Mistress turned and strode from the room, her guards at her heels.

Ivan gaped after her, hoping that he was suffering from a very bad dream, although various aches, pains and over-stressed muscles told him that he was wide awake.

“Your first mistake,” Sandoval told him cheerfully, gently swirling the wine in his glass, “was in thinking that you could outfox me. The _second_ was in not asking exactly what the terms of my bet with Mistress were.”

“… maybe if I confessed all, she’d just kill me and get it over with.”

“At least you’ll be safely out of reach of the chamberlain once they get that arrow removed,” Sandoval said.

'It's all your fault,' the ghost of the Guilt Lizard threw in, appearing from beneath the bed.

Ivan stared at the ghost for a long moment, realizing that he hadn't heard the thing berate him _once_ the night before. "Why me?" he demanded.

"Because easy," Sandoval said, smiling over his glass, "is no fun at all."


End file.
